


weep little lion man (you'll never be what is in your heart)

by taakos



Series: money, power, glory [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Explicit Language, Fake AH Crew, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taakos/pseuds/taakos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray gets an idea. Los Santos. He's it on the news plenty of times. The "Bulimic Capital of America". It isn't a rash decision made late at night. He's been playing around with the idea for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weep little lion man (you'll never be what is in your heart)

**Author's Note:**

> title from Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons

Ray Narvaez Jr. grows up in Brooklyn, New York. Not quite poor, but not quite middle class either. It's very normal. His mother loves him, his father too, his little sister is, well; she's a little sister. No life changing events that make him go insane, no superpowers (which disappointed Ray on a personal level), nothing. Oh, well, maybe there's something.

He's eighteen and he has a best friend. (Whom he met on Xbox Live.) Said best friend lives in New Jersey, not too far, but not close enough. Michael tries to take trains often and keep in touch, but he has family stuff. One day, on one of his last visits, Michael tells him a secret while they watch a Star Wars marathon.

"Ray, I gotta tell you somethin', dude."

Ray sits up from his upside down position of his bed, "You're gay for me? I already know that, dude."

Michael grins crookedly before his expression turns solemn again. "Listen, if tell I you this, you have to swear to not tell anyone. I'm serious."

Ray's brows came together as he frowns. It's gotta be pretty serious, then. (Go big or go home, he guesses.) "Yeah, of course I swear. What's up?"

Michael manages a smile and swallows quickly. He takes a breath. "Aight, so, you heard about all the mafia activity going on in Jersey lately, right?"

Ray nods, of course he knows, it's been all over the news for a month now. The Italian-American Mafia, although mostly based throughout New York City and it's surrounding areas, had been having a lot of activity in New Jersey. (More than usual, that is.) The cops had said they usually worked quietly, but now they're loud, and no one could figure out why.

Michael takes another gulp, "And, you know about all the family stuff I've been doing lately? All the extra hours at the bakery?"

And, then, like a small bullet train, it hits Ray. Holy shit. Michael is in the mafia. (Or is he? He hadn't said anything about being in the mafia, just the bakery. Maybe he helps the mafia?) Ray's thoughts race from possibility to possibility and he manages a curt nod.

"Okay, well. Shit." Michael pauses and runs a hand through his recently sheered hair. He purses his lips, looking for the right words. Ray is practically vibrating with anticipation. "My family runs the mob in my hometown. I, uh, got inducted last month."

Ray does an internal fist bump because he knows someone in the mafia. (He's not sure why that's an achievement, but it's definitely something to tell the grandkids.) Ray's eyebrows shoot up, as he acts surprised. "Holy shit. So, like, how far does your family go back in the mob?"

Michael seems at ease now, like he thought Ray would react negatively. (Maybe Michael thought he would call the cops? Bros don't snitch on bros, though. Snitches get stitches, then get thrown into ditches.)

"Uh, my great grandad, Enzo started our branch and crew after he moved to Jersey from Italy during like, the late 1800s, I think. After he died, his eldest son took the title of caporegime, crew boss that is, and the rest is history. My dad's the capo now and my brother is next in line." Michael shrugs and yawns. (Ray thinks Michael's heard the story a thousand times by now, at least. Know your roots or whatever.)

"Oh, fuck yeah, man, I have connections now!" Ray grins and offers Michael a high five. Michael looks at his manic expression worriedly before taking the high five.

Michael grins and takes a sip of his soda. "You looking to get rid of a body?"

Ray's eyes get big and his smile goes manic again, "Oh, shit! When I say I know a guy, it's true now! You're the guy!"

Michael chokes on his soda a bit. He can barely take much more of the joke. "Yeah, that's what they call me. Michael Vincent "The Guy" Jones."

They both lose it at that and end up on the floor, crying, and clutching their stomachs. (Ray changes Michael's contact name in his phone to "The Guy" because it's fucking hilarious.)

And then, Ray's nineteen and has only seen Michael twice this year, and spoken to him on the phone once, maybe. It's all very sobering. Ray realizes friendships don't last forever, friends grow up and apart. He realizes everything does and must. His mom says, "It's only natural, mi hijo." She only uses Spanish when she's in "my child is sad" mode. (A mode she hasn't had to use in a couple years.) Ray just sighs, "Yo sé, mama."

(But he doesn't. You see, Ray had had problems during his childhood with friends. He couldn't seem to keep 'em. It seemed they always left, for something, someone better.)

Ray gets bored. Playing video games alone is fun, but playing video games with your best friend is better. He can't do that, so he makes a hasty decision. Michael owes him a favor from a year ago. (Michael almost got punched because he accidentally hit on some guy's girlfriend, Ray defused the situation and apologized to the dude. Michael told him that Jones didn't take favors lightly and to call it in whenever.)

Ray taps Michael's number, it's his second speed dial number. (After his parents house's number.)

"Ay, Ray, how you doin'?" Michael answers quickly, sounding out of breath.

"Hey, man, listen, I wanted to call in that favor you owe me." Ray surprises himself by speaking calm and clear. (Let's be honest, he's a bit nervous.)

"Oh shit, yeah dude! Anything. What you need?" Michael manages to get out, still breathing heavily.

"I'm going to need a sniper rifle. As well as a private range to practice at." He stares at the ceiling, trying to figure what the fuck he's doing.

"Uh, yeah, man, you need the sniper on the down-low, I'm guessin'?" Michael's breathing evens and it's replaced by understanding.

"Yeah. You think you'll be able to do it?" Ray prays to whatever god can he hear him. Ray needs this.

"Fuckin' duh dude, 'course I can! I'll hit you up in a couple days with details about your range and gun." Michael states with pride. (Jones never forget their debts.)

"Thank you so much, Michael. You're a bro."

"I know, I'll talk to you later." Michael hangs up after that.

Ray takes the phone from his ear and stares at the screen, that was a two minute conversation. (Ray was just promised a future. What a bro.)

Michael texts him two days later with a picture of the gun he's having made custom for Ray (holy shit), the range's information, and how to get into the range. (Holy shit. This is actually happening. Holy. Shit. Ray thinks he's in love with Michael. Not in a "fuck me up the asshole" way, but in a "you're my best most loved friend" way.)

Ray's gun gets in two days after that, his mom informing him it arrived after he got from work with, "Oh, nene, Michael sent you something, I put it in your room!"

Michael also sent some bread and calzones, as well, along with a note from his mother to Ray's mother. (Surprisingly enough, the two bonded very well over the past five years that Ray and Michael had known each other. Actually, it wasn't surprising, moms are moms.)

Ray bounds up the stairs with a calzone for his sister in hand. He knocks on the door, tosses it to her, shuts the door, and sprints into his room. He's never been so out of breath in his life. Jesus. He take a minute to calm himself.

He regains the ability to breathe normally and dives for the box on his bed. He opens it and finds the parts to assemble a sniper rifle. A bright, hot-pink sniper rifle. He starts giggling like a school girl as he reads Michael's letter. Most of it instructions to assemble, clean, and use the gun, as well as written instructions on how to get the range. Another part apologizing for being so absent in Ray's life, since they're supposed to be "best friends for life, or whatever the fuck the saying is" as Michael puts it. The last part telling him to call whenever and if he needs something, don't hesitate to ask.

And Ray's favorite part, the post-script: "P.S. Going from pro-sniper in game to real life? You've got some balls, bro." And then, Michael drew a crude drawing of a heart with small writing in it saying, "no homo, tho. jk, all the homo." (What. A. Bro.)

Ray follows the instructions of how to assemble it and looks at the thing. (Thank you for the stupid drawing, Michael.) It's shiny and extremely lethal. Just his style. He dissembles it and shoves the box under his bed. He'll practice assembling and disassembling it on the weekend. He'll go to the range whenever he can get entire days off work.

Time starts flying by and all of a sudden, Ray can shoot a bullseye without using his scope from 200 feet away. He gets a firm slap on the back and chuckle from his range's private instructor. ("You've picked this shit up real easy, kid. Jones told me you were a  quick learner, but damn.")

Michael still refuses to tell him how the hell he got Ray use of the range. Generally speaking, only rich people use this range. It's upstate and as well as being a range, there's also rooms available for use. Ray stays the night pretty often. (Lying to his parents about where he is isn’t fun. It’s the least fun thing he’s done, in fact.)

Ray gets better and better until the instructor, Alan says, "I can't teach you anymore. You're as good as me, now, kid." Alan saw Ray's expression of wonder and confusion, "Believe me, Narvaez, if it wasn't the truth, I wouldn't be saying it, no matter how much it hurts me."

Ray gets an idea. Los Santos. He's it on the news plenty of times. The "Bulimic Capital of America". It isn't a rash decision made late at night. He's been playing around with the idea for a while. He even asked Alan, "Maybe you'll be able to be who you want to be there. I'd take a shot." So, he moves across country. His parents are doubtful at best, scared at worst. (His mother cries at the airport and his father hugs him tighter than he ever had before. His sister is looks at him strangely. He promises to write emails or letters, or whatever people write these days.)

Los Santos is a large, fake place. Unlike Brooklyn, Los Santos is full of empty, sad people looking for things they'll never find here. Also full of criminals. Lots and lots of criminals. Ray spends a lot of time killing them. (It satisfies him in a strange way, but he feels empty.) Ray likes to think he belongs there.

He's a mercenary. He kills people for other people. It's fucked up. He knows, he's known that for a while, but he needs money and mercenary work pays wonderfully. He gets a call from Michael every two weeks or so, asking how he is and what's up, Michael says he seems "oddly content". Ray agrees. It's exciting and he doesn't have to talk much to kill people. (He call his parents and tells them he's happy and that he'll visit as soon as he's not busy. He's always busy.)

Sure, it's depressing as hell when he thinks about how much goddamn blood is on his hands, but hey, it's apart of the job. (The guilt, sometimes, is crippling. He spends entire days laying down or playing video games in his apartment.) So much blood. His favorite color, as a kid, was red. But now, he thinks, it haunts him.

He almost gets blown up and then Geoff Ramsey saves his ass. They exchange numbers and tells Geoff to call if he needs anything. Geoff offers him a crooked smile and two finger salute as he climbs into his car. Ray watches as it drives off and climbs onto his motorcycle, strapping Pinkie on his back.

Ray gets a call from Geoff and Geoff's friend, Jack, five months later. They're putting together a crew. Ray agrees and offers to call Michael. He'd totally want in. (He does.)

A week later Ray sits around crewmates (friends) watching a movie in Geoff's penthouse. Ray cleans Pinkie as Michael and Gavin giggle and whisper to each other, he smiles fondly to himself. Jack and Geoff sit on the sofa, already asleep and leaning on each other. Ray shakes his head slightly; old people these days, no respect. Ryan sits on in front of the table, drawing a map for their next heist, sipping on a diet coke with his mask resting on his head.

Ray's never felt so happy in his life, he swears. He's never felt so not alone. He has friends.

(But not for long.)

**Author's Note:**

> spanish translations -  
> "mi hijo" - my son  
> "yo sé" - I know  
> "nene" - term of endearment, no direct translation, basically means "honey, baby, babe, hun"
> 
> sorry if ray's characterization is fucked, i've never been able to write him /well/. probably two more origin fics (gav and geoff) and then the grand heist fic, which i'll attempt to make very long. i'll aim for 10k words, but goddamn if that actually happens. okay, see you at the next <3


End file.
